


The Death of a Star

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Akallabêth/Last Alliance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isildur got too much credit for  Sauron's defeat... A look at Dagorlad from Gil-galad's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death of a Star

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

I dreamed of fire, and shadow. I dreamed of death. My father's death, my grandfather's death, my death. So I dreamed ever night for the last seven years. It was easy to brush the dream off. Who would not dream on death on this Valar forsaken plain? 

We have been fighting for what seems eternity, but I know it is not. The War of Wrath had been years longer, so why did this battle seem a thousand times worse? Perhaps it was because of my youth then. Barley one hundred years when the army's of the west came to save us poor exiles. I was not so young now. I knew what was at stake, and I knew the likelihood of our defeat. Why had I seemed invincible then? With the Valar at our backs I had foolishly thought death could not touch us. I knew better now. 

I have not seen the stars for seven months two weeks and four days. The air I breathe is poison. And I shall die here, on this blackened plain. How did it come to this?

"My Lord King!" My herald approached. News of another route? I can only hope for the best, though one look at his grim features tells me all I need to know.

"How many Elrond?"

There is so much to say to him, before the end. I wish I could tell him how proud I am of him. He has become a great elven lord, so far from the shivering ragged child clinging to his brother's tunic; I first met all those long years ago. I would tell him how much I love him. But I am no minstrel, and cannot put my love into words. He is the brother I never had. But I will not speak. And one day it will be too late. I am a coward in love. In this I am much like my father.

I remember standing watching him ride off to battle. He had gathered me up in his strong arms, and I had clung to him. So little time, there was never enough time with him. But on that day, the last I ever saw his face, I had clung to him desperately. I think I cried, but I cannot be sure. He did not cry, at least never before me. I was his son, and to me he was Fingon the Valiant. Brave knights never cried, or so I had thought. No words had been spoken. He did not need to convince me of his love, I had felt it. In ever look, ever touch, yet to hear the words from his own lips, just once.... 

"Ten killed fifteen wounded," a hand on my shoulder, bringing me back. The gray eyes I loved best searching into my soul. "Ereinion?"

So much death, the ground is red with it. The air is thick with it. Small streams cut through this black land. They flow red on our side and black on the enemy's. It is our blood that fills them now; there are no cool rains here.

"My lord?" They are waiting for an order, waiting for their king. 

***

He has come, Sauron the deceiver. I curse his name; it is filth on my lips. Today we shall end this. My grandfather fought Morgoth in single combat, and wounded him seven times. I shall fight Morgoth's slave, and kill him. It is not pride or valor that moves me; I am too weary for either. To tired of sleepless nights, endless battles, and countless dead. If Nírnaeth Arnoediad was the battle of Unnumbered Tears then what shall they call Dagorlad? 

Finally I am upon him. He towers above me, a dark mass. He is death. Rot and decay. His stench overwhelms me; nearly it alone would make me falter. But I am his doom. 

I cannot say if it was hours or mere moments we fought. It seemed an eternity. My spear was heavy in my hand. I had lost my helm sometime ago. My armor was slick with blood, my own, my warriors, and my foes. 

I stumbled, tripping over the bodies tangled below my treacherous feet. Is this how I will die? Like my grandfather, he undone by the land he loved and fought for -tripping in a traitorous hole. Me, felled by what was left of the brave bodies under me?

My hands outstretched, I hit the ground. Quick now, I slither to my knees, just avoiding the slicing blade. My hands and feet slipping in the blood. And then I am looking down, into the gray blue eyes and face I had admired in life. Sightless they stare up at me, from Elendil's broken body. I swallowed down the sickness. 

When had he fallen? I did not see. 

Sauron! My hate fuels me. I spin around, just in time to receive the deadly pain. I stare down at his black blade, protruding from my stomach. Strange, it went right through my armor. Cursed ring.

Everything is dime now, my lifeblood mingling with the dead. Soon I shall join them. My limbs entangling with their, here in this black land. But not yet.

I raise my spear. Oh, the weight, it is lead. But my will is enough. 

Sauron laughs at me. The blood splattered last high king, the failure, or so he would believe. Let him laugh, it will be mine that sends him on to the void in the end. He holds no weapon, it's still imbedded in me. Yes, run! I laugh, he stumbles back, I give him no change. My spear pierces flesh. I have not the strength to finish it. My sight darkness, I fall. My head comes to rest next to Elendil's. It is good company to die in. 

Elrond. I should have told him, should have told him, my brother.... Too late now, too late. I wish I was not such a coward...

I do not see Isildur cut the ring for the Dark Lord's hand. But I feel it. It is finished, he is gone. I laugh.

A great wind comes out of the west, and I see them one last time. The black clouds of filth part, and tiny pure white lights poke through. My eyes clouded by tears as I beheld Varda's stars. The last glorious memory I will take with me to the halls of waiting, from my beloved Arda. 


End file.
